


Up All Night

by cordelia_gray



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - College/University, Community: salt_burn_porn, Frottage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-22
Updated: 2013-10-22
Packaged: 2017-12-30 03:38:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1013631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cordelia_gray/pseuds/cordelia_gray
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kevin has a crush on the tall, quiet librarian in Special Collections.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Up All Night

**Author's Note:**

> Written for salt_burn_porn, for [](http://ashtraythief.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://ashtraythief.livejournal.com/)**ashtraythief** 's prompt of "Every Monday, it's the same." Totally unbeta'd and written in about an hour and a half, I literally had to stop typing and just post. Now edited slightly and with some actual porn added.

Mondays were the worst. Kevin had no idea right now what had possessed him to take the Monday evening South American history class after a full day of classes starting with Psych 101 at 8:00 am. It was insane. If he had any hope of keeping up the reading schedule, it meant two hours _after_ the 9:30 pm class ended, which meant he was already behind on sleep before Day 1 of the week was over. But it was seriously the only way to get in that extra three credits he needed if he was going to have enough credits to go into law school after two years instead of three.

The only good thing about Mondays was the one free period from 1:00 - 2:00, when he could hole up in the quiet area on the third floor of the library, pretending to study while really watching the Special Collections librarian.

His name was Sam Winchester, and Kevin had never met anyone like him.

Mr. Winchester was tall and broad-shouldered. Mr. Winchester had a scar on his cheek, which somehow only emphasized the sharpness of his cheekbones. Mr. Winchester had a mysterious and tragic past, according to everyone Kevin asked. Mr. Winchester walked with a slight limp, and some days a cane.

They said, his girlfriend died. They said it was a car accident, a fire, a murder. That he'd killed her. They said he had no family, that he never left the campus, that his brother was a serial-killer. They said all sorts of things.

Mr. Winchester never said much about himself, or at least, not to Kevin. Well, the fact is, he never said much to Kevin at all. He'd led Kevin's little group on the library orientation tour - "Call me Sam" - and he'd been friendly and charming, but distant. Kevin had asked a question about search capabilities which Sam had seemed to think was rather clever, and he'd given Kevin this quick and devastating smile.

Kevin had been smitten ever since, which was entirely inappropriate for any number of reasons, not least being the girlfriend he texted with every day. When he could, anyway: the course load was frankly proving a little much for him. As it was for her: she'd gone to Harvard, which meant they were on opposite sides of the country. It felt like a vast, unimaginable distance. It might as well have been the moon. She'd texted Kevin topless picture of herself: he'd touched them a few times, before they both left, but hadn't gone farther than that. It seemed very long ago. distant in time as well as space.

Kevin's mom had gotten him settled at Stanford, and then promptly announced she was being sent to Singapore to open a new branch of the company, and she'd be home in six months. A year, tops. She was incredibly proud of Kevin, and had total confidence in his ability to handle college, because he was smart and had good study skills, and his course load was too heavy to let him get into any trouble. Kevin tried to feel up to the task, tried to feel proud of her confidence rather than terrified. It mostly worked.

Which it was: as the term wore on, Kevin felt more and more like he was drowning. He was drinking coffee by the bucketful, and not sleeping. Even bathing seemed unimportant some days: who would notice? He know almost no-one here by name.

At the end of the tour, that first week on campus, Sam had taken them through Special Collections, his own area of specialty. He said the study carrels on this floor were rarely used, and it was a nice quiet place to come, if you needed to. One of the girls had said, wide-eyed, that she'd heard this floor was haunted. Mr. Winchester - Sam - had laughed. "It's not haunted," he said, but the smile looked a little fixed.

Kevin seemed to be the only one who'd taken him up on the offer, and it was a nice quiet place, and he could watch Sam, who moved with an ease and grace which seemed to speak of action held in check.

They talked a little, when it was quiet, about school, books, professors - the minutiae of academic life. Kevin thought about trying to expand the conversation to more personal areas, but he had very little practice in such matters, and Sam seemed to shut down whenever he tried.

One day, after Kevin had been up for two days straight - midterms - he ended up passed out in the study carrel. Sam woke him after an hour, with a bottle of water and a concerned expression. He asked if Kevin was OK, if he was going home for Thanksgiving. Kevin explained about Singapore. Sam gave him his phone number: "Call me, if you need to," he said.

Kevin had no idea what that was supposed to mean.

His mom did come for Christmas break, and Kevin stuffed himself on home-cooked meals and sleep until he had to go back, but somehow the second term was worse. It rained a lot, and the course load seemed even heavier, the other students more anxious and less social. Kevin realised he had a class on Monday afternoons, so he rearranged his schedule to get the free period back. Some days he felt like those brief Monday-afternoon chats were the most human contact he had all week.

Some boy in his dorm found Kevin asleep on his books in the common area, and offered him some pills - "Study aids," he'd called them. Kevin felt alert, clear, back on top of it all. Until he crashed. But the kid was back with more, and the cycle repeated.

After midterms, a group from one of his classes invited Kevin out to celebrate. He went, because he needed to do something to blow off steam. There was drinking, and karaoke, and more drinking, and Kevin somehow ended up at an off-campus bar, and the world was spinning horribly, and he had no idea where his friends were, and he thought he was going to puke. A warm hand steadied his elbow, and he looked up - up- into the face of Mr. Winchester, who was wearing a flannel shirt. Kevin thought that was strange, he'd only ever seen him in jackets, but the shirt was soft and worn. Kevin leaned into it and relaxed. Everything was going to be OK now.

When he woke up, it was noon, and he felt like utter shit. But he was in his own bed, in his dorm, still in his clothes, though someone had taken off his shoes and tucked him in.

Later, he went by the library even though it wasn't Monday, to appologise or something. Sam laughed, and said it was fine, Kevin wasn't the first drunk he'd put to bed.

Kevin mostly stayed away from drinking after that, though he did go out for a few drinks to celebrate the impending end of term. Afterwards, buoyed by the optimism of knowing he had (almost!) survived his first year, he called the number Sam had given him. Sam seemed surprised, and then worried, but Kevin insisted he has fine, he just wanted to celebrate. Sam actually did show up then, and Kevin had always kind of wanted to climb like a tree, and after three of whatever those fizzy things were, he couldn't think of any good reason not to. Sam seemed surprised to find Kevin in his arms, but he laughed, detached him gracefully, and said, "let's get some food in you."

He took Kevin to a big, black car he'd never seen before - Sam rode his bike everywhere on campus, Kevin didn't even know he _had_ a car, let alone a big vintage American behemoth like this. Sam caught him looking, and said it was his brother's, but Kevin thought Sam looked perfectly at home in it, in a way he never quite seemed anywhere else.

He took Kevin to an all-night diner, and fed him coffee and bacon and eggs, because why not, and told him to drink lots of water, and after Kevin said, "Show me something on campus I've never seen before." So Sam took him up the back stairs in the library, right up onto the roof (Kevin wondered how he got the alarm codes, but nobody came to arrest them, so that was OK). The campus was spread out below them, miles of red California buildings, looking almost black in the floodlights. But at the back of the building, behind the structure where the stairs came up, there was a pocket of darkness. Sam showed him, if you lay down there, you could look up and see the stars. He had a blanket up there and everything. Kevin asked him if he brought girls up there, and got that crooked little smile.

Sam said he came up to watch the stars sometimes, it was peaceful. Kevin wasn't interested in the stars, he was interested in Sam. He rolled over onto his side and put his hand on Sam's broad chest. He was wearing flannel again, and Kevin just wanted to rub himself all over it.

"Kevin-" Sam said, pushing him away gently.

"I'm not drunk anymore," Kevin said. "It's been hours, and I'm perfectly sober. And don't start in about how you're too old for me, I'm legal."

Sam groaned.

"I'm almost nineteen," said Kevin, "and I'm tired of being a virgin, and nobody's touched me in months, and if you don't touch me right now, I'm going to, to explode!"

He leaned in to kiss Sam, and Sam's arms came up around him, almost by reflex. Kevin just couldn't get enough, Sam's mouth hot and urgent under his, Sam's big hands cradling his face. Kevin couldn't wait, he had to get his hands on skin. He fumbled impatiently with the buttons on the flannel shirt, rucked up the t-shirt beneath, until he could feel body-heat, shocking contrast to the pre-dawn chill.

Sam slid his hands down Kevin's neck, over his shoulders, down his chest, unzipping his hoodie so he could slide his hand inside, over Kevin's chest, his abs, around his back. He pulled Kevin closer, and he went willingly, swinging his leg across Sam's so he was straddling him. He could feel the hard line of Sam's dick in his jeans, the edge of his belt buckle cold against his skin.

Kevin dove into kissing Sam again, heedless, urgent. He couldn't quite believe he was doing this. He, Kevin Tran, was not the kind of person to make out with strange men under the open sky. He felt unmoored, untethered from his life, both utterly safe and at the same time reckless of danger.

Sam's hands slid down his back again, under his shirt, down into the waistband of his jeans. Kevin made a noise at that which might have been embarrassing in other circumstances, but Sam devoured it greedily, and Kevin was nearly frantic with want, rutting against Sam through layers of cloth. Sam pulled him more tightly against himself, cupping Kevin's ass with both hands, sliding a finger into the crevice, pressing lightly against the sensitive places there.

It was too much: Kevin's orgasm hit him out of nowhere, wringing a wild cry they probably heard halfway across campus. Kevin collapsed against Sam's chest, breathless, as Sam held him through it, petting his hair and murmuring encouragements. Kevin tried, after a while, to reach for Sam's belt buckle, but his hands were trembling too much to make it work. "Shhhh..." whispered Sam, against his hair, and Kevin let himself sink finally into sleep, as Sam pulled the edges of the blanket up around them to preserve their warmth against the greying edges of the night.


End file.
